She drove down Pitkin Avenue. The hot July weather brought everyone outside. Hustlers hugged the corners, and crackheads scrounged around for their next hit. Sharon watched as street peddlers lined the sidewalk, moving their illegal CDs, DVDs, and electronics.
Sharon parked and walked into her favorite store, Mike’s Chicken and Pizza, nestled on Pitkin Avenue. The weathered green awning was a testament to the shop’s longevity. Chicken and pizza was a strange combination for a restaurant to promote, but Mike, a small Italian man that the locals respected, had been around for years and had the best chicken and the best pizza in all of Brownsville and Bed-Stuy. Anyone not familiar with the restaurant usually frowned at fried chicken and pizza being sold together—chicken was soul food, and no Italian had the right to make it better. But Mike’s chicken, with its special ingredient, could rival most soul food restaurants.
Sharon walked into the crowded place, its reputation having spread to Queens, Harlem, and even upstate New York. Today, she had a taste for some BBQ chicken. She placed her order and waited near the door, fumbling with her smartphone, checking everyone’s latest status on Facebook. As she stood around, she noticed the eyes on her. People who knew her from back in the days gawked at her like she no longer belonged in Brooklyn. But their stares didn’t intimidate her. She had come for some food, not to be spotlighted because of her occupation.
As she waited for her order, she looked to her right, and through her peripheral vision she noticed a familiar face. It was Black Earth—Tamar’s loud, obnoxious, ghetto mother. Sharon was surprised to see the woman. It had been a long time. The last time she had seen Black Earth, she and Tamar had gotten into it, and cops hauled her off to jail for disorderly conduct.
Sharon observed the husky woman. She had seen better days. Her clothes were worn and old, her long weave looked unkempt, and her cheekbones looked caved in. She looked like she was on some kind of drug, crack maybe.
Tossing her smartphone back into her pocket, Sharon hurried after Black Earth as she trekked down the sidewalk, following her like the professional investigator she’d been trained to be. Maybe she has an idea where Tamar is.
Black Earth slid into the lobby of a four-story building at the end of the block, and Sharon was right behind her, forgetting about the order she’d placed at Mike’s.
Sharon walked into the building lobby and caught Black Earth disappearing into the stairway. She moved like a cat trying to catch a mouse. She could hear Black Earth climbing the stairs, her breathing heavy like an asthma patient’s. She was out of shape and not hard to miss.
Black Earth arrived on the fourth floor and moved down the narrow hallway and knocked on an apartment door with a sense of urgency. Sharon was close behind and watched her from the stairway door. It was obvious to her what Black Earth was there for.
A young, shirtless thug opened the brown apartment door up. “You back again?” he said to her roughly.
“Yeah,” Black Earth answered, her tone gentle.
“You got my money?”
Black Earth nodded. She showed him a clump of dollar bills, and he snatched it from her.
“Next time, you call a nigga first,” he told her as he served her some drugs.
Black Earth quickly pivoted away from the scowling thug. As she came Sharon’s way, Sharon stepped back from the stairway door and waited to confront her.
When the stairway door opened up and Black Earth came into her view, Sharon said, “Black Earth.”
Startled, Black Earth spun around, looking at her with wild eyes, ready to attack Sharon like she was an enemy. “What the fuck! Don’t be muthafuckin’ sneakin’ up on me, bitch!”
“It’s me, Sharon. You remember me, Tamar’s friend?” Sharon said quickly.
Sharon was already on the defensive, not knowing how Black Earth would react. She was known to have violent outbursts. She had her gun and shield on her and kept a safe distance from the woman, and her hand near her Glock, just in case the conversation went sour.
“Aren’t you a cop?”
“Yes.”
Black Earth went from looking angry to worried. She tried to hide the vials of crack in her hand, wrapping her arm around her stout frame.
Sharon told her, “Don’t worry, I’m not here to arrest you.”
“Then what are you here for?”
“Tamar. When was the last time you saw her?”
“I don’t talk to that bitch,” Black Earth spat. Her relationship with her daughter was still strained after Tamar, Cristal, Lisa, and Mona jumped her.
“When was the last time you talked to her?”
“She don’t come around much, and when she do, she takes her sisters and brother on these nice shopping sprees, flossing her fuckin’ money, buying them nice, expensive things. I gave birth to that stingy bitch, and she don’t give me a fuckin’ dime.”
“Shopping sprees?”
“Yeah.”
“Where did she get the money?”
“I don’t fuckin’ know, but that bitch is rollin’ in the dough. That bitch flossin’ her money in front of my face, tryin’ to be spiteful. I push her out my pussy and look how she do me.”
Sharon had heard enough. “Look, here’s my number. Whenever you see her, please tell her to give me a call. It’s important.”
Sharon handed Black Earth her card, and she reluctantly took it. “Tamar is bad news. She’s an evil, evil bitch now.”
“I would still like to have a word with her.”
“I hope you fuckin’ arrest that bitch.”
“Arrest her?” Sharon was baffled. “For what?”
Black Earth smirked. She charged down the stairway.
Sharon stood in the stairway. She thought about the shopping sprees Tamar was taking her siblings on, and where the money could be coming from. Did she hook up with a drug dealer, or is she selling drugs? She took out her notepad and jotted down everything Black Earth had said to her. She didn’t have a clue what her former friend was into, but she was determined to find the switch and turn on the lights.
Three
Melissa Chin, AKA Daisy, felt like the queen of England as she sat at the head of the table in Mr Chow on 57th Street. Her guests praised the success of her newest book, which was selling fast and moving in extraordinary numbers. Melissa Chin was becoming a big name fast. The people seated at the white cloth table with candlelight had no idea she was a fraud. They kissed her ass and spoiled her with adulation and compliments, and she was eating it all up.
Daisy sipped on pricey champagne and looked like a glamorous brat with high-end clothing, shoes, and handbag.
“How do you do it, Melissa, write the way you do?” Janice asked. “Your stories are vibrant, the characters seem so real, and the plot just jumps out at you. If the books weren’t fiction, I might think some of these things actually happened.”
Daisy smiled, the compliments stroking her ego. “I’m just born with a gift, you know. Beyoncé sings, I write. I’m like the Beyoncé of the book world. I got what it takes to capture people’s attention with my words, you know. Nobody can fuck with my pen game.”
“That’s right, nobody can fuck wit’ my bitch,” Janice said loudly. The groupie showed off her curvaceous figure in a low-cut dress and five-inch stilettos. “We are here to enjoy our girl’s success and meet us some fine-ass men in the city. If they ain’t paid and cute, with something nice between their thighs, then we don’t need ’em.”
Daisy laughed.
The girls dined on chicken satay and ginger lobster and downed champagne and wine like water. They made their presence known inside the restaurant with the large tips Daisy left. Occasionally patrons would turn their heads at the group of women dining close by and scoff at them.
Daisy loved talking about herself and her career. She ran her mouth about everything.
“You know they trying to offer me a multimillion-dollar book deal for my next joint and it ain’t even written yet.” Yeah, bitches, look at me.
“Would I lie?”
“I wish I was you.”
“I know. My shit stay on fleek,” Daisy replied flatly. “And they talking about a movie deal for my first book. You know I can play my own character in the movie, because I’m multitalented.”
“Facts,” Denise said.
“So tell us, what’s your next book going to be about?” Bonnie asked.
“Girl, it’s gonna be better than my first two.”
Daisy had no idea what the next book would be about. She hadn’t seen it yet, nor read the synopsis. The real Melissa Chin hadn’t disclosed any details about it, or when it was going to be finished or released.
She sat there with a sure smile on her face. “It’s a work in progress. I can’t tell y’all about the story, and y’all know I’m under a confidentiality contract.”
“Can you just give us a little clue?” Bonnie said. “Tandi and Olivia are ruthless. They got Brooklyn on fire. The books are so good. I’m just addicted to the story.”
Daisy grinned, hiding her ineptness. There was nothing to give, because she didn’t know what to give and had no idea how her ghostwriter would continue the fourth installment of the series, the long-awaited third installment of the series having just been released. She could only talk about the books published already. She took her time reading the galleys sent to her from the publisher to avoid making a complete fool of herself at book signings across the country.
She was coached to be authentic at press conferences, book signings, and radio interviews. One mistake and it could all go Milli Vanilli. When asked where the story originated, she was trained to say, “It’s been building up inside of me for years now. I’m into James Bond films and spy movies, and I love a good conspiracy story.”
The world believed she was the creator of the famed characters Tandi and Olivia—two Harlem girls who went from the bottom to the top via murder for hire. They were the Killer Dolls, female terminators more deadly than Cataleya Restrepo from Colombiana, Samantha Caine played by Geena Davis in The Long Kiss Goodnight, or Uma Thurman in Kill Bill.
Daisy continued to bluff an answer to Bonnie’s question. It was great that she was a fan, but the bitch was becoming an irritant. She downed the last of her champagne, letting it swirl down her throat.
“Look, Bonnie, like everyone else, you’re gonna have to wait until I’m done to find out what happens. I can’t be showing you any favoritism in here. And, besides, you talk too fuckin’ much. You might get me sued. Don’t forget, I am under contract.”
Bonnie backed off, pouting.
“Anyway, where we going tonight?” Daisy asked with glee in her tone.
“Anywhere,” Denise said. “Where the cuties are at?”
Janice told them, “I think Cheaters is popping tonight, or Mavericks on Fifth Avenue.”
“Ooooh,” Bonnie uttered. “I heard Mavericks be jumping.”
It was Daisy’s choice to pick the club. She was the alpha female in the group. She had the money and name. If she told them to jump, they would ask how high.
“I don’t know. I feel like Cheaters tonight,” she said slowly, looking at Bonnie.
“Yeah, I feel like Cheaters too,” Bonnie quickly agreed.
“I know you do.”
Daisy was sometimes unkind and sardonic to her friends. She was far from affable when it came to socializing, only putting on a smile and polite mannerisms around people who could help her career and book sales. At the end of the day, she was a complete bitch.
While everyone was itching to go, Daisy wasn’t rushing for anyone. It was her day, her career, and without her, her stuck-up and uppity friends wouldn’t be experiencing the five-star restaurants, partying in VIP, and cruising around Manhattan in high-end cars.
They remained patient, hiding away their grievances while going into their third hour at Mr Chow.
As Daisy was about to sink her teeth into a large scoop of lime sorbet, she paused, staring at the fine specimen of a man entering the restaurant. Immediately, she recognized his face and felt her panties get moist seeing him.
Domencio was a retired drug distributor turned businessman. Daisy’s eyes were transfixed on him as he stood clad in a sharp three-piece double-breasted suit with fancy cufflinks, sparkling Rolex and pinky ring, and dark designer frames. He looked like a celebrity without the entourage. Standing at an even six feet with skin the color of Hershey’s milk chocolate, Domencio had thick, jet-black hair with piercing blue-gray eyes, a square jawline, and bulging muscles.
It didn’t take long for the girls to turn around to see what suddenly had their friend’s attention. He caught their attention too. He had come with a male friend, an associate of his. The men were quickly seated almost at arm’s length away from Daisy and her friends.
Domencio, a black man with some Spanish heritage, was one of the most dangerous men in the city. His face had been in numerous newspapers for many crimes and murders, but he had been tried and acquitted. In his mid-forties now, he had become the “Teflon Don” of the city. He spoke Spanish fluently, along with some Italian, and was smart enough to trade the drug game for a legit hustle.
Daisy said to her friends, “You know who that is?”
“No. Who?” Bonnie asked.
“He is fine though,” Denise blurted out.
“That’s Domencio, a retired gangster and drug dealer. Now he runs a big real estate company in the city. Plus, he owns that club Shuffles on the West Side.”
“For real?”
“Yes.” Daisy couldn’t take her eyes off of him.
Right away, their waiter brought a $1,500 bottle of champagne to their table. Domencio sat in his seat like a don. His swagger was born, not learned.
Daisy grinned. “I feel myself getting pregnant by just looking at him.”
Her girls laughed.
Domencio glanced their way for a moment. He happened to smile Daisy’s way, and she ate it up. She felt her breathing become thin, and butterflies did gymnastics in her stomach.
“Ooh, he’s looking at you, Daisy,” Janice said.
“I know.”
“Go over and say hi to him,” Denise suggested.
Daisy didn’t know how to introduce herself to him. She was never nervous around men, but Domencio was an exception. The delicious sorbet she was about to enjoy no longer interested her. She had her eyes on a different kind of dessert, something chocolate with a little more flavor.
“I need to use the bathroom,” she said, pushing her chair back from the table.
She felt giddy while passing Domencio and his friend. She gave him a fleeting look and hurried by their table. As she passed, she could feel his eyes on her, knowing he was watching her walk. She was hoping he liked what he saw.
Daisy went into the bathroom to check on her image. She gazed at her reflection, touched up her makeup, fixed a few loose strands of her hair, and did a line of cocaine before exiting the bathroom fifteen minutes later.
While heading back to her table, she so happened to bump into Domencio in a soft collision near the restrooms. She stumbled a little, but he was there to help her.
“I’m so sorry,” she quickly apologized, looking nervously at him.
“No, I’m the one that should be apologizing. It’s my fault. I got a little distracted.”
Daisy locked eyes with him and couldn’t turn away. He was more handsome up close and personal. His voice was deep and brooding, and he also had an infectious smile that radiated charm.
“I know you,” he said, wagging his index finger at her.
She was taken aback. “You do?”
“Yes. Your face . . . it’s familiar,” he said evenly. “You’re that writer about them girls, the Killer Dolls, if I’m not mistaken.”
She smiled. “I’m guilty as sin.”
“I love your work.”
“You’re a fan?”
“An admirer.”
She smiled heavily.
“I’m Domencio Partlow.”
“Melissa Chin.”
“Melissa Chin, you are truly a beautiful woman and a gifted writer.”
“Thank you.” She blushed. “So, you come here often?” she asked, not knowing what else to say to him.
“It’s one of my favorite places to eat.”
“Well, it’s becoming one of mine now,” she replied.
Domencio walked her back to her table and was introduced to her friends. The pair flirted and tried to trump the other with their achievements. He bragged about his everything, and she bragged about her everything. It almost seemed like they were made for each other.
It didn’t take long for Daisy’s plans to change. Instead of going to the club with her girls, she was taking him home for a good fuck. She had no problem ditching friends for a piece of dick.
Domencio eventually picked up their check and left with her, though he had a baby mama waiting for him at home that night.
...
Domencio reached out to caress Daisy’s face, and she took his hands and placed them on the back of her head, letting him know it was okay to guide her action.
The next several minutes, she concentrated on sucking the head of his dick, using her lips around the crown, tickling the underside with the tip of her tongue. She wanted to make him feel so good. It wasn’t every day she got into bed with a handsome criminal mastermind turned multimillionaire. She slammed his big dick into her mouth and he grunted, guiding her head down on his dick, making her deep-throat it.
Daisy would have been contented with just giving him head, but when he told her to sit on his face, she was ecstatic.
He took his thumbs and spread her pussy walls wide and slid his tongue in her sweet spot, and she began grinding her hips rhythmically as he sucked and nibbled on her clitoris for a good long time.
“Fuck me now, baby.”
He leaned her over, face down into the pillow, ass arched, legs spread slightly, put on a Magnum, and rammed his meaty dick inside of her. He clamped his hand around her slim waist and fucked her vigorously, opening her pussy up like a good book.
Daisy backed it up on his hard dick, taking it deeply into her. A passionate moan of pleasure escaped her lips. The bliss engulfed him, and as he leaned forward to kiss her, her dripping pussy saturated his entire lower half.
Murdergram, Part 2 Page 2
